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Orange pearls of ikura suspended in pink squares of lychee martini jelly. Shards of red root-vegetable jelly tossed with radicchio. Tomatoes and burrata floated in an orb of salty honey jello, like a sensual Caprese snowglobe. Ruby melon jelly shaped and encased in its rind and draped with prosciutto. These edible hors d’oeuvres, served at an experimental aperitivo hour during the Venice Biennale earlier this year, are the work of Zoe Messinger. And with her new line of packaged powders, Gelée, the chef and artist is exploring the endless possibilities of gelatin.
Available in guava, passion fruit, and pineapple-coconut, Gelée aims to redefine what it means to nourish ourselves—not through strict regimens, but through play and self-expression. More flavors are in the works, ranging from salty to acidic. “Food has always been much more than a meal,” says the culinary creative, who invites us to engage intuitively with jelly as a medium for creativity without feeling intimidated. “There’s something so true about joy and play being a vital nutrient to both our body and soul.”
Gelée is made from non-GMO whole fruit powders and non-GMO beef gelatin, rich with collagen and naturally occurring pre and probiotics. The packets are meant to be mixed at home by adding hot water and letting the mixture set. There is no added sugar. Recently I made a parfait, cutting cubes of passionfruit jelly and layering it with coconut yogurt, whipped cream, and a drizzle of honey as per the website’s recipe. With a satisfying snap and burst of clean bright flavor, it was not the wan stuff of childhood and hospitals. Plus, it was surpisingly easy to make.
“I was always looking for my canvas,” says Messinger who begged every chef she worked for—places like Kismet and Freedman’s in Los Angeles—to let her stay on the expo station. “I loved dressing the plate, creating that brushstroke of sauce, and watching it go along the pass and finally in front of the guests.” She’s finally discovered that canvas with Gelée—and is optimistic it will offer the same creative spark to others, too. “It’s kind of like Crayola,” she adds. “Sketch paper and crayons, but through food.” A small selection of silicone molds is available for purchase on the website, and Gelée hopes to launch an even wider collection “in every conceivable shape for every demographic,” as well as a curation of vintage copper molds.
While making bone broth—gelatin’s base—during Covid, Messinger’s vision of Jell-O reimagined was born. On lockdown in rural Pennsylvania where she grew up, she underwent a personal recalibration, tapping into ancient wisdom and grounding herself by “reconnecting with the cycles of the sun, moon, and earth.” Fascinated by the medicinal and nutritional properties of gelatin and collagen—and also taking a cue from holistic-minded brands like Moon Juice and Sakara—she became fixated on and harnessing what’s around us, and using elements of the earth, to create a new spin on the foodstuff. One of her favorite ways to use Gelée is as a sauce: topping a grilled sea bass with Piña Coca, or a roast duck with Guava. “It melts into a jus of sorts, making for a full circle moment.”
When it comes to Jell-O, attitudes and expectations have changed considerably in recent years. Anyone who’s scrolled Instagram knows we’re in the midst of a jelly renaissance, with no shortage of quivering creations to adorn our tables, and ourselves. Jelly Blush, jelly bags. Jelly sandals have been crowned the shoes of the summer—a trend precipitated by The Row and fueled by ’90s enthusiasm, from millennials who are nostalgic for it and younger generations longing to experience its fashions firsthand.
Food-inspired fashion is having a moment, and gelatin-inspired wearables are the next logical step. “It’s food without being too on the nose. A more subversive way to say you are—or in this case you wear— what you eat,” says Sarah Isenberg, an art historian and social media strategist at MOMA PS who prefers a pair of sandals from Plasticana. She’s also the proud owner of a Rachel Antonoff skirt emblazoned with old-fashioned bundt-shaped jellies, the ultimate item of jelly fashion.
In the food world, where trends are also cyclical, jellies have been percolating for a while longer. In the past, it has been both a symbol of medieval wealth (the upper classes made it by boiling down the carcasses of their roasts) and mid-century domesticity. No one’s forgotten the aspic of the ’70s, after all—but maybe now is the time to reclaim it.
Jelly trends today can also be seen as a natural extension of the squishy sofas and bubble furniture trends that surged during the pandemic. Its inviting roundness appeals to us in the post-Covid era, where rigidity in other aspects of life has given way to a collective craving for softer things. Nunchi, Lexi Park’s made-to-order jelly cakes, rose to prominence during this time—as did Laila Gohar’s surreal gastronomic spreads for Prada and Hermès—when the unique circumstances of the pandemic (not to mention our ballooning Instagram usage) cultivated our interest in imaginative, multisensory culinary experiences that provide a welcome escape and sense of wonder.
“I think jellies are a no-brainer when it comes to aesthetics for food, fashion, and marketing,” says Khuyen Do, a freelance creative consultant for luxury brands and founder of The Cakewalk, a newsletter on fashion and food. “They naturally evoke a sense of childhood fun, and you can shape them into whatever you want. While a jelly can be the most innocent thing, it can also be erotic and sensual at the same time,” she notes, highlighting a duality and versatility that aligns with Gelée’s mission.
Messenger already has plenty of exciting events planned for New York Fashion Week next month, including a jelly installation for an upcoming show that may or may not involve a giant horse mold. “I really hope people tap into jelly’s artistry,” she says. “The more I discover my own joy—not relying on others to generate it, but by tapping into my raw inner child—the more empowered and invigorated I feel.”